Shear Murder (6 page)

“Torrie Miller, right?” He squinted at her, his gaze keen. “Tell me what you know about the deceased.”

“She's married, works for
Boca Style Magazine
as a fashion reporter, and drives a snazzy BMW.”

“I'm guessing this is a crime of passion, because whoever did it grabbed a handy weapon and didn't put much thought into hiding the body.” Brody tilted his head. “We won't know the cause of death for certain until the medical examiner's report. In the meantime, can you think of anyone who had cause to harm her?”

“Can I!”
Just about everyone I met today.

Her comment drew a snort from Dalton. “You're asking my unofficial deputy here. She'll tell you more than you want to know, buddy. And if you don't stay on top of things, she'll find the bad guy before you get anywhere close.”

She swiped at a couple of stray hairs cutting her vision. “No way. I'm keeping my ears clean on this one. We have too much to do planning our own wedding.” Smiling sweetly at her betrothed, she waited for the detective to prompt her again.

“I'd like to take brief statements from everyone and then let them go home,” Brody said, “so if you have anyone in mind that I should interview further, please share that information.”

A flash of light drew her attention to the forensic guy snapping pictures. The cake table had been moved out of the way, and Torrie's body lay in full view. Someone had drawn a chalk outline around it.

A wave of dizziness assailed her. “The photographer,” she murmured. Dalton's warm hand squeezed hers, giving her strength. “Not the man doing wedding photos, but the other one. Griff Beasley. He works with Torrie at the magazine.”

“He's here?” Brody said with a puzzled frown.

“Yes, apparently Griff and Hally Leeds were assigned to cover the wedding because it takes place the same weekend as the grand opening for Orchid Isle. Hally is a society reporter,” she explained. “They came as a team.”

“When did you meet these people?” Dalton inserted, as though wondering why he'd been left out.

“Outside, just before the wedding ceremony, when I was headed toward the bride's house. I overheard a brief conversation between them.”

“And?” both men said in unison.

Marla folded her arms across her chest. “Hally implied that Griff had more than a professional interest in Torrie. Hally didn't seem happy about it either.”

“You're saying she acted jealous?” Brody held his pen poised over his notebook.

“I can't be sure. After all, I don't know these people very well. Hally also said something about Torrie edging in on her column. When Torrie spoke to Griff later, she sounded less than eager to boost Hally's career.”

“Friendly rivalry between colleagues is nothing new,” Dalton commented.

“Right, but if you're looking for motives, Hally came across as resentful either way.”

“Had you noticed any hint about more than a professional relationship between this Beasley character and the deceased?” Brody asked.

Marla's face pinched in thought. “Actually, yes. Torrie said something to Griff about putting herself at risk for him and that she hoped her husband hadn't noticed. She said Griff would be sorry if he backed out on his word.”

“What did he say in return?”

“That if she ratted on him, she's dead,” Marla ended in a hushed tone.

Brody scribbled madly. “Those two sound like persons of interest. Who else?”

“Um, Torrie had a conversation with Falcon Oakwood. I know she's friends with his wife, Leanne. That's how Jill was able to book the wedding at Orchid Isle.”

“So?” Dalton yawned.

The poor man looked exhausted. Marla felt bad, embroiling him in another murder investigation. It wasn't his district, but he wouldn't let go so easily.

“Whatever Torrie and Falcon were discussing wasn't making the real estate developer happy,” Marla said. “Then again, they could have been talking about the weather, for all I know.”

“Anything else?” Brody gripped his pen.

“Well, there are the family issues.”

“Oh?” Brody straightened, his keen eyes alert.

“Jill and Torrie own a piece of commercial property together. It's been rented on a steady basis until recently, when their tenant left. Their cousin Kevin, who's in the real estate business, offered to get them a new lease without charging a commission.”

“This property, is it worth much?”

“It's increased in value. Torrie and Jill were in the process of drawing up a partnership agreement. I believe their uncle, an attorney, was helping them.”

“I see,” Brody murmured, adding Jill's relatives to his expanding list of guests to interview more thoroughly. “Thanks for your cooperation, Miss Shore. You've been very helpful. Lieutenant,” he said to Dalton, “you and the lady can go now. We'll talk more later. I may have more questions, plus I'd appreciate your insights.”

Dalton didn't have talking on his mind when he unlocked their hotel room door, unfastened his bow tie and cummerbund, and loosened his shirt. With a gleam in his eyes, he pulled her close after she'd kicked off her shoes.

“I'm sorry for what happened today.” He stroked her hair. “This should have been a happy occasion.”

“It's horrible. I can't imagine how Jill feels right now.”

She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his strong arms around her. She needed to feel alive, to know that her own world felt stable. Raising her stockinged feet, she met his lips with a passionate kiss.

He deepened the embrace. “These clothes are in the way,” he murmured, raining kisses down her cheek. “Do you think Torrie got in Jill's way?”

Dalton's sexy tone distracted her from his words. “What?”

He drew a corner of her gown off her shoulder and kissed her bared flesh. “I mean, could your friend Jill be glad her sister is out of the picture?”

Marla jerked back. “How could you think that?”

He didn't drop his hands from where he held her. “I saw you fidget when you mentioned the partnership issue.”

Her temples throbbed. “I was wondering who stood to inherit Torrie's share, that's all.”

“You think Jill has something to gain by her sister's death?”

“More likely Torrie's husband Scott is her heir.”

“Depends on what Torrie's will states. She could have left her portion to either one.”

“I'm not privy to that information, nor do I care.” She smiled up at his concerned face. “All I care about right now is this.” Moving her hand, she showed him what she meant.

His breath hitched, and their conversation ended abruptly as he sidestepped her to the bed.

Tomorrow, she'd think about what Jill had whispered to Torrie just before the ceremony.

If you say one word to anyone, you'll be sorry. It'll be the last thing you ever say.

Marla and Dalton lazed in bed the next morning, sharing pillow talk. They faced each other, Marla in her silk nightgown, and Dalton in his boxers. He traced his fingers idly along Marla's arm while she stroked his chest nested with soft hairs.

“The wedding yesterday got me thinking,” Dalton said, his gaze half-lidded.

“Mmm, what about?” Still groggy, she was loath to get out of bed to make coffee.

“You and me. How you've brought me back to life and given me focus again. After Pam died—”

She touched his lips. “Hush. You don't have to say it.”

He brushed her hand aside. “Yes, I do.” His eyes shone with a warm sheen. “We had the dream church wedding. Ten years later I watched her die a slow, agonizing death from cancer. My work is ugly. I see things that make you wonder about the worthiness of the human race. When Pam was alive, I came home to a place where I could find peace. With her gone, our daughter was the only thing that kept me going . . . until I met you.”

“I know,” she said softly, glad she'd made a difference. Her eyes misted as she remembered their early days together, when he refused to discard any item in his house that had belonged to Pam. She'd come to love the man, recognizing his loneliness and helping him to move on.

He wasn't the only one who'd had to adjust. After a tragedy in her past, when Marla was babysitting a toddler and the child drowned in the backyard pool, Marla had vowed never to have children. She couldn't bear to risk the pain of loss. Never mind that the child's parents had told her to take the expected phone call. She'd looked away for mere minutes, and that's all it took for the kid to climb out of her playpen and into the water.

Even though the accident had happened years ago, it seeded Marla with doubts about her own abilities. She had Dalton and his daughter to thank for helping her grow beyond her past mistakes.

“If you stick with me,” she told him, “I don't know how much peace you'll have. I've become a jinx. People around me end up dead.”

Dalton tapped her nose. “That's not what gets you into trouble. You're likely to play amateur sleuth again. Leave the police business to the professionals.”

Sitting upright, she clutched the sheet to her body. “You're the one who asks for my help now.”

“Yeah, but this isn't one of those occasions. I understand you feel bad for Jill and Arnie, but you already have a full plate.”

“Tell me about it. That reminds me, I have to talk to the painter regarding my day spa tomorrow. I'm not happy with his color selection.”

“Speaking of colors, what about our wedding? Have you made a final decision yet?”

“I want to talk to the florist again first. What should we do today? Lie out by the pool?” She'd feel terribly guilty taking the entire day off. But then again, they
were
at a beach resort and should get their money's worth. “Actually, that's not a bad idea. Let's forget about everything and just relax.”

Dalton's cell phone rang, putting a crimp in their plans. “Hello, Detective Brody.” He stood, his shoulders hunching as he listened. “That is interesting. Thanks for the update.” Clicking off, he regarded Marla from beneath his thick brows. “The knife handle was clean of prints.”

“Meaning?”

“Someone was smart enough to wipe it, or they wore gloves.”

She got up, pulled on her underwear, and set about making coffee on their in-room coffee maker. While waiting for it to brew, she opened the blackout drapes. They'd slept late. Morning sunbeams penetrated the room.

“That smacks of premeditation,” Marla said, “but Brody assumed it was a crime of opportunity. The killer couldn't have foreseen the cake knife would be sharp enough to do the job until he'd actually held it.”

“If the cause of death was from chest trauma.”

“You're saying she might have been killed by other means first?” Marla shook her head. “I saw blood. She wouldn't have bled if she'd already been dead.”

“True. Let's say it was a crime of passion,” Dalton said, pacing the floor, “and the bad guy was smart enough to clean the weapon of choice. Did he use a cloth napkin, a handy dish towel, or perchance wear a pair of disposable plastic gloves obtained from the kitchen?”

She held up her hand in a stop signal. “Whoa, you're hurting my brain. I haven't had my caffeine yet.” At the coffee stand, she broke open a condiment package and added sugar and powdered cream to one of the mugs. The smell of freshly brewed java made her mouth water.

“Well, think about it.” He scratched his bristly jaw. “What would you do if you'd just stabbed someone on the spur of the moment, and the knife was still stuck in her? You couldn't risk pulling it out and having blood splatter all over your evening wear. So you leave the knife in but need to wipe the part you'd touched.”

“I'd grab a dinner napkin from a nearby table. I don't think

I'd get a glove from the kitchen first. That might be traceable if the police talked to the cooks.”

“So where did that napkin end up?”

Halfway to putting the filled coffee mug to her lips, Marla paused. “Good question. In the killer's pocket? To trace that, you'd have to contact all the tuxedo rental places or dry cleaners in the tri-county area. Or did the napkin land on another table, where it got picked up and sent to the facility's laundry service?”

“I'd like to take a look at the seating arrangements,” Dalton said. “I suppose Jill has a copy?”

“So does Arnie's mother. But shouldn't you pass these theories on to Brody? It's his investigation, not yours.”

“Right,” he replied a bit too hastily.

She gave him a suspicious glance but didn't pursue the matter, hoping to cast aside the shadows from the previous evening and enjoy their day. She'd like to call Jill, but didn't want to intrude. Despite the tragedy, last evening was her friend's wedding night.

After breakfast in the hotel restaurant, she and Dalton spread their towels by the pool. Some of the other wedding guests had stayed overnight, too, judging from a few familiar faces.

She recognized Alexis, Jill's aunt by marriage, wearing a one-piece swimsuit over her big-boned form. Scrunching her eyes behind a pair of dark sunglasses, Marla watched the older woman. Alexis poised at the deep end of the pool and then dove in with the grace of a practiced diver. Impressed, Marla wished she could swim laps with such little effort.

Dalton sat oblivious at her side, shades propped on his slightly humped nose. “Where should we go for lunch?”

“Lunch? We just finished breakfast.”
Typical man to think about his next meal.

“We could go to South Beach or Lincoln Road.”

“Or we could go home. Did you talk to Brie?”

He nodded. “She's fine. Anita is taking her out to eat after she finishes her homework. And before you ask, Spooks is behaving himself. He likes the new dog treats I bought.”

“Good. Oh look, here comes Alexis.” Marla waved.

Dalton gave a grunt of recognition. “I remember them. Her husband is the wine snob, and she's the workhorse.”

“Dalton, that's not nice.” Marla plastered a friendly smile on her face as Alexis strode over, a towel wrapped around her torso. Her sculpted arms made Marla wonder if she lifted weights for exercise.

“Marla, isn't it?” Alexis said in a throaty voice.

“That's right, and this is Dalton.”